


District 14

by hutchabelle



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hunger Games, Inspired by The Hunger Games, Post-Canon, Post-Games (Hunger Games), Post-Hunger Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: Written for the following prompt:  Fact: A 2017 Reuters article says free land still available! Fiction: Write a story of Peeta and Katniss (together? meeting after?) joining those leaving D12 for a better life beyond its boundaries when government writes a homestead act. Requirements? Struggles? Obstacles? Conflicts? [submitted by 567inpanem]





	District 14

**Author's Note:**

  * For [567inpanem](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=567inpanem).



 

 

“Mr. Mayor, I implore you. Please consider the implications of this plan.”

 

“You are out of order, Mr. Mellark. You are out of order,” the parliamentarian argued and smacked his hand on the smooth wooden surface behind which every member of District 12’s administration stood when speaking in the regional government. “Kindly desist, or you will be removed from this chamber.”

 

Mayor Atright glared, and Peeta was struck again by how much the man reminded him of the deceased Mayor Undersee. Atright likely was no relation having migrated to Twelve from District 13 after the war ended so many years ago, but the likeness was uncanny.

 

“My apologies, sir,” Peeta grumbled and turned to sit. There wasn’t anything else he could do. The bill had passed, and it would become law by the day’s end. What happened after that was anyone’s guess, but Peeta knew it wouldn’t be good.

 

“Good try, Peeta,” Thom Collier assured him with a pat on the back once the session ended and government officials streamed into the halls, heading home for a holiday weekend.

 

“Thanks, Thom,” Peeta sighed as his shoulders slumped wearily. “And thanks for your support—and Bristel’s. You’ve both been invaluable fighting for the soul of District 12. It doesn’t even feel like the same place anymore.”

 

Thom dropped to sit next to him and nodded. “I got a call from Hawthorne the other day. Gale said this new policy has everybody worried—even as far away as District 2. Seems like a lot of people have lost their minds. Everyone who didn’t go through the war anyway.”

 

“I hate talking bad about the next generation—it’s almost too cliché—but this seems like they don’t have any idea how bad it was,” Peeta lamented as he rubbed his left knee. The missing limb still bothered him sometimes, and nightmares occasionally crept into his bed when the phantom pain got to be too much.

 

“Time heals a lot of wounds. Not having lived through the war is a blessing I wish more of us had been afforded.”

 

“So do I, friend,” Peeta agreed.

 

“And you and Katniss had it so much worse—” Thom’s voice broke at Peeta’s look, and he went silent. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Peeta said quietly as he struggled to stay calm. “It’s late. Time to get home to my family. Katniss worries if I’m late.”

 

“Have a good one. Any big Uprising Weekend plans?”

 

Peeta chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve been part of too many uprisings. No need to celebrate in any other way than spending time with my family.”

 

The walk home dragged as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. His left leg still bothered him, and he kicked at the dirt with the artificial appendage. There was some residual resentment toward…well, everything, he realized as he plodded through the streets.

 

“We helped build this damn place,” he cursed and clenched his fists. “There wouldn’t be a District 12 anymore if Katniss and I hadn’t—”

 

He cut off as some of the neighborhood children ran by him. They laughed and yelled to each other as only those who were totally carefree could do. He envied them. He really did. He couldn’t remember a time in his life without the anxiety and fear of an oppressive dictatorial regime, and abusive mother, and a borderline alcoholic father.

 

His heart swelled until his chest felt uncomfortably tight when he thought about his own children; Hope, his firstborn, a beautiful daughter who looked uncannily like his wife, and the youngest, his son Archer, the apple of his eye. He’d hoped they’d never know the terrifying world of the Hunger Games and over-reaching governmental oppression. With the new bill now passed into law, he wasn’t sure that would be possible anymore.

 

“Hi, honey. I’m home!” he called as he entered the house. His pithy words had started as a joke after they’d watched a special about a television program discovered in the Capitol’s archives. Apparently, situational comedies—sit-coms, they were called—had been quite the rage prior to the world deteriorating into the Dark Days. For some reason, that greeting from the fictional husband to his wife amused Katniss, so he said it one day when he returned home from the bakery. He’d kept up the habit since then. It was the only time he used a pet name. Somehow, every other way felt unsuitable.

 

“Hi, Dad,” Hope greeted him as he crossed into the dining room. She was there doing homework, as she always did in the hours after school. She was one who enjoyed finishing her work first and then relaxing, while her brother was exactly the opposite. “Mom’s upstairs. Lying down.”

 

“Bad day?” he asked, and his daughter nodded seriously.

 

“It’s not a good one.”

 

“I’ll go see if I can make it better.”

 

Hope scrunched her nose and shrugged. “She’s worried about the bill.”

 

“Aren’t we all?” he murmured as he dropped a kiss on the top of his daughter’s head and then headed upstairs. “Aren’t we all?”

 

****

 

“Katniss?” Peeta queried as he entered their bedroom.

 

“Over here.” His wife’s reply was soft and slightly groggy from the mass of twisted bedding. She’d obviously been drifting in and out of sleep for most of the day.

 

“How are you?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle. He’d had enough experience with her headaches and lost days to know better than to act normally. She needed compassion and empathy, not accusations and shame.

 

“I’m worried,” she admitted. “I know the vote was today, and I’m nervous about…everything.”

 

He crossed to her and settled onto the side of the bed. She reached for him, and he squeezed her hand in his. “It passed,” he said as tenderly as he could.

 

His wife flinched as if he’d hit her, and he forced himself to breathe deeply and to remain calm. He couldn’t allow himself to be triggered. She needed him in that moment, and he knew he couldn’t allow his hijacking to take over now that it was vital for them to make significant decisions about what to do since the law would change overnight.

 

He smoothed her hair off her forehead and twisted her braid around his palm. She clearly forced herself to smile at him, but he could tell it took everything she had to pretend she was okay.

 

“What are our options?”

 

He sighed heavily and glanced around the room. It was so familiar after almost three decades. The memorable wallpaper, the mementos they’d accumulated over the years since the births of their children, a glimpse of his old house through the window…all of it brought back flashes of memories of the Games and Snow’s regime.

 

They were gone forever. He knew that, but he couldn’t help but think that the new bill, now law, took them much closer than they had been to the terrifying days before the rebellion his wife had inadvertently started and then led.

 

He’d factored into the revolution and coup, too. Everyone had, and maybe his role really had been as important as Katniss always insisted. His contribution seemed minor compared to his wife’s. Logically, he knew he’d sacrificed plenty—his leg, his family, nearly his sanity—but so had everyone else. In the end, Katniss and he had fallen in love (or maybe back in love depending who one believed), and they’d raised two children who made him believe in a better future for everyone. Until the bill became law.

 

“We can leave,” he finally answered. “We have the option to take advantage of last year’s Homestead Act just like everyone else.”

 

Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head. “I can’t leave. You know that. That was part of my probation after…after I assassinated Coin.”

 

“I put in a call to Paylor. She cleared it with the current administration.” He smiled wanly at the spark of interest in her eyes. Mention of the former victor and former president of Panem in the days immediately following Snow’s and Coin’s deaths ignited something inside Katniss. He almost saw the young, defiant girl he’d loved in the depths of her eyes. “We’re free to emigrate just like anyone else.”

 

“We can’t stay here, can we?”

 

“Not unless we want our freedom severely limited, no. And not if we want our children to grow up with any sort of civic responsibility that’s not colored by propaganda about how the ‘good old days’ weren’t actually rife with pain and death and so on.”

 

“Can we dig up some of the primrose bushes from the side of the house?” she asked, and his heart pinched at her plaintive tone.

 

“Of course.” His eyes misted slightly at the memory of their reunion after his return to their home district. It was the first day of her healing when he’d brought her the bushes and planted them in her yard in memory of her sister. “They go where we go. She’ll always be with us. You know that.”

 

She nodded, steeling herself, and then asked, “When do we leave?”


End file.
